WHO: Melys, Carver, Alistair WHAT: Honoring the fallen by getting hecka drunk WHEN: Nowish WHERE: Kirkwall NOTES: If your character would also participate in Ostagar Anniversary Drinking and we missed you, let me know!
Of course Carver came here. It's a little taste of home, something he feels keenly today. Thirteen years: a lifetime ago. He was a young, dumb boy of eighteen trying to protect his family and wanting to find a place in life. He'd almost found it, before the darkspawn struck and Loghain made his infamous choice to retreat, leaving them all to die. Then everything fell apart.
He still has his mabari tattoo, poorly drawn and faded with time, but it's there. The men he fought alongside of remain as fuzzy images and voices in his memory. The feelings linger more than their faces, though he still has a grasp on most of their names still. Hearing some of the stories being discussed around him brings back a few details, and he finds himself smiling from time to time.
As he takes a drink, he finds someone sliding into the seat next to him. Of course, he's hardly surprised Alistair's here. That day changed him, too. He cocks a brow at his offer before setting his drink down. "Because that doesn't sound a touch desperate or anything." He huffs out a laugh. "But all right. I think I can manage. Want me to guffaw and clap your shoulder and everything?"
A bony palm slaps onto his before there's any chance. Probably a bit harder than necessary. Melys slings a stump about Alistair's neck, and leans between them to leer.
"Guffaw? Seen one of those once, th'kind that say words, ain't they? Rivaini." She's not drunk enough yet to believe they're actually talking about parrots, but she shakes her head anyway. "Already got proper, patriotic birds here tonight."
With less venomous irony than she'd otherwise employ speaking of a Hawke (tonight's a night for unity). Melys releases Carver to rap on the table twice, before swinging a pinky at Alistair and shouting at the nearest harried server.
"He's got mine." The girl rolls her eyes on the retreat, and Melys swipes up a piece of bread, shoved unceremoniously in her mouth. "Think she likes me."
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He still has his mabari tattoo, poorly drawn and faded with time, but it's there. The men he fought alongside of remain as fuzzy images and voices in his memory. The feelings linger more than their faces, though he still has a grasp on most of their names still. Hearing some of the stories being discussed around him brings back a few details, and he finds himself smiling from time to time.
As he takes a drink, he finds someone sliding into the seat next to him. Of course, he's hardly surprised Alistair's here. That day changed him, too. He cocks a brow at his offer before setting his drink down. "Because that doesn't sound a touch desperate or anything." He huffs out a laugh. "But all right. I think I can manage. Want me to guffaw and clap your shoulder and everything?"
no subject
"Guffaw? Seen one of those once, th'kind that say words, ain't they? Rivaini." She's not drunk enough yet to believe they're actually talking about parrots, but she shakes her head anyway. "Already got proper, patriotic birds here tonight."
With less venomous irony than she'd otherwise employ speaking of a Hawke (tonight's a night for unity). Melys releases Carver to rap on the table twice, before swinging a pinky at Alistair and shouting at the nearest harried server.
"He's got mine." The girl rolls her eyes on the retreat, and Melys swipes up a piece of bread, shoved unceremoniously in her mouth. "Think she likes me."
She does not.